Melissa Sussens
You have been inside me,
though neither of us were given a choice.
You know how white I am within. You know
how much I love to shine, how I glow
when I am as spotless as a polished gun.
Do you think they chose my red brick exterior
on purpose? Is it meant to camouflage
the truth of the life I have drained
away? When I have only the chilled
carcasses and the cold night
air for company, I exhale. Don’t feign
surprise. You must know I hold
my breath for blood. We are the same,
you and I. Both architects of death.
I am of superior design, I will outlast
you. You, who name yourself kind
while wielding words as blade.
Do not blink as you gut the truth,
exhume the body of memory. Call me loss,
call me graveyard for carnage, call me home
to the murdered. It does not matter. Death takes
getting used to. I see the way it feeds
you. Now, reach for paper before comfort settles
in, dissect me over and over on the page.
Featured at The Red Wheelbarrow on 20 October 2022